Art

An oil on canvas against a giclée of the same painting:

from across a room they can look identical, though their prices have nothing in common. A giclée is an inkjet print, sometimes on canvas, sometimes with strokes of clear gel brushed on top to fake texture. Under a magnifying glass a print breaks into tiny dots of ink; paint never does. A small original by a working Costa Rican painter starts at around ₡100,000 bought from the artist, and a giclée of the same image costs a fraction of that. On resale they part ways: an original by a little-known name rarely gets back what it cost, because that price carried a gallery’s commission, while a print is worth about what its frame is worth.

Woodcuts and lithographs from the Generación de los Treinta:

printmaking has deeper roots here than most buyers expect. Francisco Amighetti, Francisco Zúñiga and others of that generation taught themselves the woodcut, and Zúñiga, who later settled in Mexico, made lithographs in signed, numbered editions that still circulate. A hand-pulled print is an original in its own right: it carries a pencil signature, an edition number written as a fraction or the letters P/A or A/P for an artist’s proof. An offset poster of the same image is flat, with a printed signature and a regular dot pattern under a lens. Prints are priced by the name, the edition and the state of the paper, not by size, so ask whether a gallery receipt or catalogue survives.

Sculpture, Guaitil pottery and fine-art photographs:

work in the round and work from a camera are judged on different evidence. A bronze feels cold and heavy and usually carries a signature, sometimes a foundry mark, in the metal; resin painted to look like bronze is warm and light. Chorotega pottery from Guaitil and San Vicente, in Guanacaste, is made from local clay, coloured with mineral pigments and polished by hand, so its sheen is soft and even; copies tend to get their shine from a coat of varnish. A photograph sold as art is signed and editioned like a print, and without that a framed photo is decoration rather than a collectable.

A canvas checked from the back first:

turn it round before you look at the picture again. A wooden stretcher with small wedges in the corners can be tightened when the canvas goes slack; a cheap stapled frame cannot. On the front, look for cracks lifting at the edges and missing flakes of paint. A brownish line just inside the window of a mount means acidic board has been burning the paper, and strong light dulls colour, so an LED picture light from lighting is kinder than a window. Look inside a pot and along its rim for a chip filled with paint or a glued repair. Carved wood and old frames need checking for drywood termites: fresh pinholes and little heaps of sandy pellets underneath mean they are still inside, and the piece needs treating before it comes into the house.

Photographing a painting or a sculpture for sale:

shoot a painting straight on, in daylight, square to the camera, and leave the flash off, because it bounces off varnish and glass and hides the colour. A sculpture or a pot needs every side and the base. Add close-ups of the signature, edition number and damage, give the size of the image and the size with the frame separately, and name the technique plainly, since a listing that only says original leaves a careful buyer guessing. Say whether it is glazed: a large piece under glass is heavy and breakable, and someone coming from Liberia or Pérez Zeledón will want to know if it fits in the car. Mention a good hardwood frame too: old ones get refitted by people shopping for mirrors. Much of what changes hands comes off the walls and shelves of a house a family is clearing, and that is where the woodcut in the hallway turns out to be signed and numbered. Before you price one like a poster, show it to someone who knows prints.