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Sarah Keenlyside

They may not realise it, but Rosamond and Ben Brown make an entertaining double act. The mother-and-son duo have made art their life’s work, and where their tastes converge, trouble ensues. As our photographer asks the pair to pose at Ben’s house in London’s Notting Hill, 88-year-old Rosamond suddenly spots something she likes.
“I love the Tony Bevan,” she says, noting the piece by the prominent British artist above the mantle. “Have you got a spare one for me, for my new flat?”
When her son pretends he doesn’t hear, she tries again. “Ben. Have you got any good Tony Bevans for me?”
The badinage between the two (or lack of, in this case – “He’s stingy,” she later jokes) isn’t just evidence of how intertwined their lives still are, but also of how prolific the Browns are as collectors.
Rosamond, an artist herself, was one of the pioneers of Hong Kong’s modern art scene, holding solo shows at the city’s first permanent exhibition space in the 1960s, and forging close relationships with its most important artists, including Gaylord Chan Yu-sang and Hon Chi-fun, both of whom, it turns out, owed her a debt of gratitude for introducing them to acrylics.

“They were thrilled to meet me because I’d started using these new paints – paints that you could use in a humid climate,” she recalls. “An oil painting in that climate … I tried it. You had to have 10 paintings on the go, it was a week before they dried.”
After selling her initial stash, which she’d brought in her suitcase, she began taking orders from her supplier in the United States, who she says was “astonished” to have suddenly found a thriving new base for acrylics in the faraway British colony.
Rosamond had moved to Hong Kong in her 20s with the American architect Charles Brown because they were “very poor”, and because her adventurous new husband had wanted to see the world. Two years later, the couple had managed to rent a flat in one of Hong Kong’s most spectacularly situated buildings on The Peak known as the “pink house”. Once Charles’ practice took off, they were able to buy the whole house, and soon began populating its walls with their burgeoning collection.
When her sons Charles and Ben came along, it was perhaps inevitable that at least one of them would find themselves in the art world. In the end it was Ben.
“We lived a totally different life from most of the people we knew in Hong Kong,” Rosamond recalls. “We lived in that wonderful house, which was luck, but it did have big spaces, so we were able to have big artworks and interesting things.”

Nature or nurture, by the time Ben was 18, the die was cast. After leaving Hong Kong to study French and Italian at Oxford, he enjoyed a 10-year stint at Sotheby’s before founding Ben Brown Fine Arts in London’s Mayfair in 2004. Galleries in Hong Kong and New York soon followed. Now, as we sit in his London home, the fruits of his labour, and by extension Rosamond’s, are abundantly clear.
From the enormous Vik Muniz artwork in the Persian-blue entranceway to the stunning Candida Höfer photography that meets your gaze from the kitchen beyond, every corner of the house offers a reason to be inspired.
Look up, for example, and you’ll see several of Maurizio Cattelan’s taxidermised pigeons communing above a doorway; or Awol Erizku’s Nefertiti disco lamp rotating slowly on the ceiling. Look closer still, and you might notice the incredible Ron Arad-commissioned fireplace, or one of Gavin Turk’s ultra-lifelike bin bags propped casually by the back door. Even the hippo-shaped whisky bar is a Claude Lalanne sculpture.
The entire house is an ode to the joy of art collecting. But more meaningfully, an ode to the artists Ben represents. Virtually all of the most beloved pieces in his home are by artists he works with. Case in point: an Andy Warhol Moon Explorer Robot sits in a corner behind the family television, relatively unloved compared to the Alighiero Boetti that takes pride of place in the living room.
Though it’s easy to see why. This particular Boetti has a mysterious pull. An embroidered monochrome piece made in Afghanistan in 1977, it isn’t immediately obvious what it’s about, and yet it’s impactful, quietly questioning, begging to be puzzled over until you’ve worked it out, or formed a relationship with it, or given it the credit it deserves.

So when I do eventually inquire about the piece, there’s an immediate transformation in Ben’s demeanour. Any lingering impatience that was previously on display dissipates, and a childlike enthusiasm takes its place as he jumps from his chair to explain.
“It’s called Alternating 1 to 100,” he says animatedly. “And it’s very mathematical. It’s all about puzzles and games. Boetti was about communication between people who didn’t understand each other. There are 10 by 10 squares and within each of these is 10 by 10. Each one has a different number of black and white squares […] I think it’s rather wonderful.”
It’s indescribable. It’s something that hits you, a bit like a new girlfriend. The work has to be personal
Ben Brown
Boetti, a member of Italy’s 1960s Arte Povera movement, died in 1994, but Ben has been a fan of his for decades, and a collection of the artist’s works are currently on show at Ben Brown Fine Arts in London. That exhibition comes hot on the heels of another show at the space by Höfer, the German photographer known for her evocative images of libraries and museums around the world, and whose Hermitage St Petersburg XII currently resides in Ben’s kitchen.
So how does he decide which artists to represent? And for those of us interested in knowing what to collect, what does he believe makes a particular work special?
“I look for something that stimulates me,” he says. “It’s indescribable. It’s something that hits you, a bit like a new girlfriend. The work has to be personal. And beyond that you hope that you not only like the artist professionally, but that you like them personally – because it can be quite an intense relationship over the years.”

That answer may seem a little out of reach for the amateur collector, I argue – so should we mere mortals simply adopt a Warren Buffett-esque approach to art investment? In other words, should we be doing copious amounts of research on the artist before forking out for a piece, rather than being attracted to what’s “hot” at any given moment?
That’s exactly what gallerists are for, Ben counters, explaining that gallerists do those kinds of deep dives on their artists “a lot more than people think”.
“I know Boetti’s work so well that when I see one of his pieces, I know who sold it, how good it is, what it’s worth – I know the pantheon of the work,” he says. “If I’d seen it years ago I might think it’s amazing, but now I know it’s not for X, Y or Z reason … or the opposite.”
“That’s experience,” adds Rosamond. “You cannot buy experience.”
The pair also agree that there’s a big difference between attending an event such as Art Basel, where you’d see single works by dozens of artists, and going to a gallery show that’s entirely focused on one artist.
“You can never see too many gallery shows because even if you come away thinking it’s absolutely rubbish, that’s fine,” says Ben. “It’s only by seeing a lot of stuff you think is second-rate that you can discern the great stuff.”
He generously returns to my Warren Buffett reference. “It’s the same as investing. If you spend 10 minutes a day on it, you’re going to lose money. The more work you put in – and in my case it’s pounding the pavements and going to shows and artist’s studios and going home and thinking about it – the better you are. You’re less likely to get it wrong.”

“Most important is that it’s not about the money,” he adds. “Just because an artwork is cheap doesn’t mean it’s not any good, because I’ve had artists where the market’s gone down quite a lot, and I view that as a buying opportunity in just the same way that Warren Buffett would think about investment. You’ve got to believe in your artists.”
A specialist in European and American post-war art, Ben also believes it’s easier to understand and appreciate work by people who come from a similar time, or even geographical location, “somebody who’s been brought up with The Beatles as opposed to Shostakovich or techno music. It’s more difficult for people like me in their 50s to understand a 28-year-old’s art than a 50-year-old’s art”.
In a world where there’s a growing dismissal of experts, Rosamond is keen to further her son’s point.
It’s only by seeing a lot of stuff you think is second-rate that you can discern the great stuff
Ben Brown
“Some of the newer galleries are not that kind of dealer any more,” she says. “They’re people with huge amounts of money. Quite different. Money from their families or that they’ve made in another way, and they think, ‘Ooh I’m going to be an art dealer,’ and they are not from a trained background in the arts.”
Ben reminds me that “half the point of the gallery is for the gallerist to be the quality-control man on the artist, to not let anything onto the market that might be below good quality, which might then be detrimental to his market”.
So do either of them have any regrets about works they did or didn’t buy over the years?
“We’ve all had our lucky streaks and we’ve all got our warehouses of art you wish you hadn’t bought,” he adds.

Rosamond knows exactly which example to give. “Someone offered us an absolutely beautiful Henry Moore drawing for £100,” she recalls of her early collecting days with Charles. “And we just didn’t have £100 back then, so we didn’t buy it. Ages later Charles said to me, ‘We could easily have borrowed it you know.’ For God’s sake! Hindsight … that’s the way life goes.”
Ups and downs seem to come with the territory. But what of the current moment? Where does art fit into our increasingly unstable world? Rosamond, who says that, in the end, she enjoyed a more prolific career in education than she did in painting, worries about the impact on future generations.
“I’ve been a teacher all my life, and politics affects schools, so schools bringing children towards art are fewer and fewer,” she says. “I worry about them getting less exposure. Art and music are very important in young people’s lives.”
Ben musters a more philosophical outlook. “The art world is not oblivious to political upheavals,” he says, “but if it’s all depressing, then it’s much more interesting to buy art than to read the newspapers, right?”


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Ben and Rosamond Brown at Ben’s house 
in Notting Hill, London. Photo: Jack Orton

On the wall above a Ron Arad-commissioned fireplace is Alternando da Uno a Cento e Viceversa (Alternating 1 to 100) (1977-1978), by Alighiero Boetti. Photo: Jack Orton

The Browns with Candida Höfer’s Hermitage St. Petersburg XII (2014) and Gavin Turk’s Refuse (2012). Photo: Jack Orton

Desmond (2001) by Gary Hume at Ben’s house in London’s Notting Hill. Photo: Jack Orton

Maurizio Cattelan’s Turisti (1997) features taxidermised pigeons communing above a doorway. Photo: Jack Orton

Yoan Capote’s Isla (Hipnagógia) (2023-2024). Photo: Jack Orton

Ben Brown and Rosamund Brown at their house in London. Photo: Jack Orton

The art of rice – and its connection to community

Monti Lai, Hong Kong environmental artist and farmer, at Hong Kong Arts Centre in Wan Chai. Photo: Jocelyn Tam

Two-year-old Monti (centre) and her family. She presented it as an artwork in an exhibition titled“ Inseparable “ while she was studying in the Hong Kong Art School. Photo: courtesy Monti Lai

Rocky Mountain goat in Glacier National Park, Montana. A young Monti Lai used to spend time in the park with a National Geographic photographer shooting pictures of the goats. Photo: Getty Images

Lai with her homage to the village farmers for the art exhibition MurMur of the Brick, Rurally Engaged Art, in December, 2019. Photo: Annemarie Evans

Art container project Beautiful Journey, Beautiful World at West Kowloon Cultural District. Photo: SCMP Archives

Lai plants rice in Lai Chi Wo, Hong Kong. Photo: courtesy Monti Lai

Exhibits in the  Art Container Project Beautiful Journey, Beautiful World by a group of artists including Lai, at West Kowloon Cultural District, in 2008. Photo: SCMP Archives

How Hong Kong’s Victoria Harbour doubles as a floating art gallery

One of the two giant rubber ducks by Florentijn Hofman, anchored at Victoria Harbour in Hong Kong. Photo: Dickson Lee

The KAWS: HOLIDAY sculptural piece at Victoria Harbour. Photo: Felix Wong

Two giant inflatable giant pandas on the waterfront opposite the Tsim Sha Tsui Cultural Centre. Photo: Edmond So

This installation by Japanese art collective teamLab was part of the Art@Harbour initiative at Hong Kong’s Victoria Harbour. Photo: AFP

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American filmmaker Rattanamol Singh. Photo: Rattanamol Singh

Rattanamol Singh in a still from episode 1  of his YouTube series about artistic freedom, Patterns and Contrasts, which was shot in Hong Kong. Singh calls the city “a microcosm of so much going on worldwide”. Photo: Rattanamol Singh

Singh and Eunice Tsang, who runs independent Hong Kong art space Current Plans, in a still from Patterns and Contrasts episode 1. Photo: Rattanamol Singh

Singh’s “video essay” on Hong Kong is one of a series of films planned about artists in cities around the world. Photo: Rattanamol Singh

Singh during a shoot for Patterns and Contrasts. Photo: Rattanamol Singh

Singh sits outside a coffee shop in Hong Kong’s Sham Shui Po neighbourhood while filming Patterns and Contrasts. Photo: Rattanamol Singh

Inside Kooza: the people bringing Cirque du Soleil magic to Hong Kong

Vicente Quirós training for Kooza in Seattle. Photo: Jocelyn Tam

Cirque du Soleil’s Kooza in Seattle, in the United States. Photo: Jocelyn Tam

Vicente and Roberto Quirós performing as part of the high-wire act. Photo: Jocelyn Tam

Cirque du Soleil high-wire artists rehearse in Seattle. Photo: Jocelyn Tam

Clown Mark Gindick says he loves the physical comedy and audience’s laughter. Photo: Jocelyn Tam

Aerial silks artist Mizuki Shinagawa, who trained at the National Circus School in Montreal, practises backstage. Photo: Jocelyn Tam

Cirque du Soleil head of wardrobe Alexandra Mancini wears the 3D-printed King’s crown. Photo: Jocelyn Tam

The complicated Trickster costume for Cirque du Soleil’s Kooza needed all the swirls and patterns to align. Photo: Jocelyn Tam

An extravagant set from Cirque du Soleil’s Kooza. Photo: Jocelyn Tam

Artist Sarah Sze on how Hong Kong inspired work  in her first Asia solo exhibition in city

Installation view of Sarah Sze’s solo exhibition at Gagosian Hong Kong. Photo: Ringo Cheung/Gagosian

Artist Sarah Sze in her New York studio in 2021. Photo: Deborah Feingold

Installation view of Sarah Sze’s exhibition at Gagosian gallery in Hong Kong. Photo: Ringo Cheung/Courtesy Gagosian

Rainbow (Fractured Image Series) (2025) is one of the sculptures by Sarah Sze at Gagosian gallery in Hong Kong. Nine such pieces, each made with the fragments of a digital print, are suspended at about waist level from the ceiling. Photo: Enid Tsui

Hands, Sunset and Cheetah (Fractured Image Series) (2025) is one of the sculptures by Sarah Sze at Gagosian gallery in Hong Kong. Photo: Enid Tsui

High Tide (2025) by Sarah Sze. Photo: Ringo Cheung/Gagosian

Sarah Sze, grew up in Boston and spent time in her teens visiting Asia before returning to the US for formal art training. Photo: courtesy Sarah Sze/Gagosian

Everlasting (2025) by Sarah Sze. Photo: Ringo Cheung/Gagosian

Forever Now (2025) by Sarah Sze. Photo: Ringo Cheung/Gagosian

PostMag

Culture

Pillars of Hong Kong’s art scene, a mother and son team reveal the fine art of collecting and their ‘Warren Buffett’-style role


Pillars of Hong Kong’s art scene, a mother and son team reveal the fine art of collecting and their ‘Warren Buffett’-style role.


Inside Rosamond and Ben Brown’s art world empire

.css-1c6uqr6{color:inherit;font-weight:inherit;font-size:inherit;font-family:inherit;line-height:inherit;overflow-wrap:break-word;}Pillars of Hong Kong’s art scene, a mother and son team reveal the fine art of collecting and their ‘Warren Buffett’-style role

Pillars of Hong Kong’s art scene, a mother and son team reveal the fine art of collecting and their ‘Warren Buffett’-style role