Notes on Editions

I recently had a conversation about the idea that editioned artworks are only considered art when the edition remains below a certain number, apparently twelve. In other words, once an artist produces more than twelve examples of a work, it would no longer be considered art.

I strongly disagree with this idea, but the conversation did make me curious. Where does this assumption come from? And, more importantly, what are the arguments for why it would be the case?

In my conversations with new collectors, I often notice that editions can be a confusing subject. People wonder how they work, what the numbers mean, and how to read the multiple red stickers you see next to artworks at art fairs and exhibitions.

So, what is an edition actually about?

An edition is essentially an agreement. The artist determines that a particular work, in a particular form or format, will only be produced a set number of times. This can apply to photography, printmaking, sculpture, and video, for example. The number indicates how many examples of that specific version of the work will be available. That number then has an influence on the scarcity of a work. An edition of three is scarcer than an edition of thirty. For a collector, that can be relevant. It can influence the price, the appeal of a work, and the way it is positioned within the art market.

This also brings up another distinction: an edition is not the same as a reproduction. A reproduction can, in principle, be made indefinitely and is primarily a copy of an existing work. With an edition, the artist makes an agreement about the number of examples that will exist of a specific version of the work. That distinction is relevant to the position of the work within the art market, but it still does not determine whether something is art.

Because scarcity is not the same as art.

An edition of three is not more of a work of art than an edition of thirty. The difference lies in the availability of the work and, as a result, potentially in its market value and collectability, not in whether the work can be considered art at all. In fact, the idea of an edition emerged precisely from the possibility of producing a work of art multiple times. Within printmaking, producing multiple impressions has been part of artistic practice for centuries. In photography, it has become entirely common to produce works in limited editions. Sculpture and video can also exist as editions.

An edition can also serve different purposes. In photography, an edition can make a work more accessible to collectors because multiple examples can be produced. An edition makes it possible to offer a work at different price points, depending, for example, on its size and edition size. In sculpture, an edition can have a practical and financial function. Producing, for example, a mould for a bronze sculpture is expensive, so producing multiple examples can be a way of covering the costs of production.

At the same time, an edition creates a form of scarcity. As a collector, you know that only a certain number of examples of the work in that specific form will be available. That is part of the agreement between the artist, the gallery, and the collector. Within photography, for example, you sometimes see the final example in an edition being offered at a higher price than the earlier ones. In an edition of 3, 3/3 is the final available example. Its value does not lie in the fact that 3/3 is a different artwork from 1/3, but in the fact that the remaining availability has become smaller.

There are also plenty of examples that contradict any hard upper limit. Jasper Johns, for example, has works in editions of 35. It would be difficult to seriously argue that number 23/35 is somehow not an artwork because of the size of the edition. It becomes even more interesting when we look at work that does not have an edition at all.

Take a poster, for example. A poster may originally have been produced as a commercial or communicative object, without there being any limited edition involved. Yet such a poster can later become part of art history. A good example is the posters of Wim Crouwel. As a graphic designer, Crouwel designed countless posters for museums and cultural institutions. Originally, these posters had a different function and a different economic logic from a limited-edition artwork. They were made to be distributed and to draw attention to an exhibition or event.

But context changes over time. An object that once had primarily a communicative function can become part of a cultural and historical narrative. It can be collected, exhibited, and studied. As a result, its value can change significantly.

Which brings me to a perhaps more fundamental question: What actually makes something art?
There is no objective quality that allows us to look at something and say with certainty: this is art, and this is not. An object does not become art because it is unique. Nor does it become art because it is expensive, because it hangs in a museum, or because there are only twelve examples of it. Art emerges within a cultural context. The intention of the maker plays a role, but so does the way a work is presented, discussed, collected, institutionalised, and situated within a broader art-historical context. That is also why a banana taped to a wall can become art.

This becomes perhaps even clearer when we look at Maurizio Cattelan's Comedian. The work consists of a banana taped to a wall with duct tape, but the banana itself is not the permanent object that the collector purchases. Comedian is a conceptual work: the buyer receives a certificate of authenticity signed by Cattelan, together with detailed instructions for presenting the work. The banana and the tape can then be replaced when necessary. The collector therefore does not simply buy the specific banana that happens to be hanging on the wall at that moment, but the certificate and the possibility of realising and exhibiting the work according to the conditions established by Cattelan. The work is therefore not so much the physical object itself, but the concept, the instructions, and the specific conditions under which the work is realised.

Comedian was also not sold as a unique object, but as an edition of three, accompanied by two artist's proofs. The edition does not make the work more or less of an artwork. The edition is part of the conceptual and economic system surrounding the work. Cattelan has also made works in much larger editions, including editions of 75 plus 25 artist's proofs. The fact that a work exists in a larger edition does not automatically change its status as an artwork.

Perhaps, then, we need to separate three things that can easily become intertwined within the art market: art, scarcity, and market value.

A small edition can make a work more scarce. Scarcity can influence market value. But market value does not determine whether something is art. And perhaps this is also why it is interesting to look at collectible design. Within the world of interiors and design, more and more work exists somewhere between art and design. Objects are produced in limited editions, collected, and sold through galleries. They have a design value, a material value, and a market value, while simultaneously moving more and more within the same cultural infrastructure as contemporary art.

The boundary between art, design, object, and reproduction may therefore not be as clear as a number.