.ART

Shantell Martin isn’t just recognizable—she’s ubiquitous. 

Known for her playful black-and-white linework, Martin’s art (ShantellMartin.art) has appeared in some of the world’s most exclusive spaces, from Rockefeller Center to Tiffany & Co. Her roster of collaborators dazzles just as brightly: Kendrick Lamar, Max Mara, Adidas, and Google have all partnered with the visionary artist. “I look at these brands or institutions as vessels to carry the message, to carry the art,” she said.

Martin moves with strategy. Hailing from South East London, she studied at Central Saint Martins before relocating to Japan, where she bartered with nightclubs to create live art in exchange for admission and drinks. She brought those negotiating skills to New York City, scoring free lunches by drawing on restaurant walls. Today, her work is exhibited at institutions like MoMA, commissioned by cultural pillars like the New York City Ballet, and featured in collaborations with brands such as Mattel. “A little bit consistently,” the artist likes to say.

On a late Friday afternoon, Martin joins our Zoom from her hotel room in London. She’s back in her home city for two very different reasons: a strenuous court case and a distinguished honor—the latter being the MBE, a British award recognizing a Member of the Order of the British Empire. We discuss her career path, business strategy, and assessment of the art market today. 

This interview has been edited for length and clarity. 

I want to start with your brand. What was the vision behind the Shantell Martin Studio?

I kind of liken it to the experience of drawing. If I’m drawing large-scale, those lines are very close to me, so I can’t see the bigger picture. All I can do is focus on the lines—make sure they’re confident, solid, flowing. Then you step back and you’re like, ‘Oh, there’s a bigger picture here.’

I think that’s quite similar to the vision and brand I’ve created. It’s been about focusing on what’s right in front of me—making sure projects and opportunities are challenging, exciting, high-quality, confident, authentic, and things I actually want to do.

It’s been about focusing on what’s right in front of me.

You’ve collaborated with artists like Kendrick Lamar, institutions like the NYC Ballet, and brands like MaxMara. What guides your approach to partnerships? 

99.9% of the time, I’m saying no.

But, if an institution or a brand approaches me, I think, ‘Does this morally and ethically align with me? Is this something that challenges me? Is this something that will expose my message and philosophy to a different demographic?’ If I can say yes to all of those things, then I love to continue the conversation and see where it goes.

Growing up, I wasn’t someone who really went to museums. As a young adult, the galleries and institutions I connected to were people—their sneakers, their clothes. It was going to someone’s house and looking at what they put on their fridge. So I don’t care if the art is on a wall or on a pair of sunglasses. I look at these brands or institutions as vessels to carry the message, to carry the art.

99.9% of the time, I’m saying no.

Pivoting from that passion—was there a moment you realized your art could be a business? How did you start thinking about monetization without compromising the integrity of your work?

I think about that all the time. I don’t know if you ever really work it out.

I started my career teaching English in Japan, but in the evenings I’d go to clubs, which were pretty expensive to get into. So I thought, ‘Maybe I could do drawing or visuals in the club.’ Long story short, I became a VJ—a Visual Jockey.

I’d get commissioned to work in avant-garde or commercial techno clubs, drawing digitally or analog for hours. It was amazing—I got into the club for free, had drink tickets, a guest list, and got paid to create art. At the time, that solved a real problem for me.

I use that example because I’ve consistently used my art to solve problems. When I moved to New York, I didn’t have a job. I didn’t know how I was going to eat. So I started to barter: ‘Hey, let me draw on your wall—you work in a restaurant, and you’ll give me free lunches all summer’.

Creativity became a kind of currency. And over time, that evolved. That’s really been the journey—using art as a way to create freedom. Ultimately, that’s my goal in life.

Do you think you’ve reached that place now?

No.

Financial independence is very difficult. We’re here talking about business, so I’ll be frank about this: unless you’re with a very established gallery that is consistently selling your work, even at my level, it is still a struggle.

And it’s a struggle because your overhead can be very high. You have taxes, you have insurance, you have staff…I’m also here in London because I went to court for a lawsuit. Someone stole my work, put it on wine bottles and distributed it in the UK. Defending my rights as an artist has cost me close to $300,000. As artists, we take a huge risk—because to protect your rights, there’s a huge cost.

As artists, we take a huge risk—because to protect your rights, there’s a huge cost.

In general, you have to think of creative ways to make money. I’m doing brand collaborations and that could be a product run like making a bike with Brompton or working with Tiffany & Co. I’m doing museum exhibitions and installations, I’m creating my own products and have my own shop. Lastly is art sales and commissions. Licensing might get you royalties and that might be a consistent project.

You’re always tapping into a variety of streams. What did scaling the brand actually look like in practice? 

I’ve always had a small team—it started with just me. But there’s only so much you can do alone. Now I work with a mix of part-time and full-time support: a collection manager to catalog and handle artwork, a project coordinator who manages scheduling and negotiations, and someone on the ground for pickups and logistics.

I also collaborate with a fleet of agents, but I keep an open-door policy. If an agent has an interesting project, they can bring it to me and we’ll work together—but I don’t want to be exclusive with anyone.

It’s a little bit consistently for the rest of your life.

Agents typically take 20%, sometimes 25%, depending on the arrangement. Some bring a project and step back, taking a 10–15% finder’s fee instead. As a friend once told me, managers and agents are like tools—you use the right one for the right job. Sometimes a project comes in and I’ll say, “Let’s bring this to an agent I trust.” They’ll take a cut, but they’ll manage it. It helps when we don’t have the bandwidth in the studio. It’s about using your best judgment for each opportunity.

Do you ever look at the data, the sales, engagement, demographics, and use that to inform any creative or business decisions?

I wish I cared more about that stuff. I was the kid who never checked the grade I got on exams. And it’s a little bit to my detriment in this space because sometimes it’s all about metrics. If you have that ability, check your demographics, your numbers, your markets.

It seems important in an industry with a penchant for novelty and, now, virality. How do you think about creative longevity? Is there a strategy that you use for staying relevant without burning out or diluting?

Not to sound big-headed, but I feel like my work has and will have an impact.

I do feel like my work gives people permission to create. Because of that, I feel that my work will stick around. And I’m not sure what types of projects I will work on in the future, but my interests are community-based. I’m creating things that make people feel connected and inspired. 

I feel that my work will stick around.

I imagine there have been challenges along the way. What are some of the roadblocks you’ve faced?

For me, it’s been a hurdle finding a business partner who has a vision beyond what I can see; a business development partner who says, ‘OK, I see the breadth of your work and the messaging, we can take this somewhere you’ve not imagined before.’

I went to an exhibition at the Gagosian in Beverly Hills, and it was the Basquiat show. The curator took us around the show and said that Larry Gagosian paid for Basquiat’s studio, flew Basquiat around, and wrote to people encouraging them to buy Basquiat’s work. So without Gagosian behind Basquiat, there’s no Basquiat that you hear of.

After that, I’m like, well, who’s my Larry?

I wouldn’t mind having a Larry Gagosian in my life either. Let’s pivot; in March, your piece, The Future is Purple, won a showcase celebrating women artists on blockchain. 

I sense a lot of skepticism around Web3, especially in the artist community. How important do you think it is for budding artists to get involved in blockchain?

I think budding artists should be willing to experiment. I joined the show you mentioned because I’d never minted anything on a major blockchain before. 

I think if you’re going to have an opinion, you have to take yourself through that system first, that workflow, and then have an opinion. The competition took me on a journey where I learned something. For me, the blockchain was secondary, experimenting was first.

My penultimate question is a biggie: what’s your assessment of the art world today and what are your projections for the art world in, say, 5-10 years?

In the last two years, I’ve received the highest award from my university, and now I’m receiving an MBE from the King. But I want to speak specifically about England, because I’m here right now: if I hadn’t left 20 years ago after graduating from Central Saint Martins, I wouldn’t be in this position today.

The art world [in England] is very gate-kept. There are exceptions, but generally, it’s a space where a particular type of artist—often with the right connections or background—gets through. I come from a working-class family with no ties to the arts. 

I also think it’s important to distinguish between the art world and the art market. The art market is unregulated, so you end up with all these tricks and games that people use; forcing work into collections, manipulating market prices, board members buying up stock of artists before giving  them shows at major institutions so that their wealth grows. There’s a lot of that. My opinion of the art market is that it’s kind of contrived.

I think it’s important to distinguish between the art world and the art market.

But the art world is a space with lots of potential. There’s room to grow, inspire, create community. Today, I went to the Tate Modern, and it was packed on a Friday with all kinds of people. They’re exposing themselves to other people’s stories, journeys, art—things that inspire them to reflect on their own self expression. 

I love that distinction. I’m going to be very particular about how I ask the final question; what’s the most proactive advice you can give to budding artists today?

Don’t verbalize your prices. As artists, if someone asks, ‘How much is this?’, we’re always going to undersell. But don’t start too high. If you’re just starting out, start low and build the price up over time.

Show people your work, bring them to your space. It might just be your living room. It might be the local coffee shop. And if they say, ‘I love this, how much is it?’, say you have a price list. And from that starting point, you can add a gentle incline every year, by 10% or 15%. 

Lastly, I would just say, a little bit consistently. Being an artist is not something you do overnight, it’s a lifetime endeavor, and it’s a very tough endeavor. If you’ve chosen this journey of being an artist, understand that it’s a little bit consistently for the rest of your life.