The Young Dealers Rewriting the Rules of the American Art Market

Most people spend their twenties trying to break into the art world. Douglas Gold and Eli Sterngass spent theirs quietly reshaping it. The founders of Manhattan's Lincoln Glenn Gallery began dealing in art while most of their peers were still in high school. Today, before turning thirty, they have built one of New York's fastest-rising galleries specializing in postwar American art, placing works in more than twenty museum collections while cultivating a market that prizes scholarship over speculation.

Their story has the makings of a New York fable. Gold made his first significant sale after discovering a painting at a flea market as a teenager; Sterngass famously bought a work by Konrad Cramer for just $238, selling it for enough to cover the rent on his first apartment. The two met at a Long Island tag sale, united by a shared fascination with overlooked American masters, and soon founded Lincoln Glenn together.

Rather than chasing the volatility of the ultra-contemporary market, they've built their reputation uncovering forgotten masterpieces, working closely with artists' estates, and reviving overlooked legacies – particularly those of women artists. Their latest exhibition, open until June 27, 2026, A Tribute to André: Artists of the André Emmerich Gallery, pays homage to one of the twentieth century's most influential dealers, whose belief that “good art dealers don't sell art – they allow people to acquire it” continues to shape the gallery's philosophy today. We spoke with Gold and Sterngass about collecting, cultural memory, and why slowing down may be the most radical strategy in today's art world.

You often describe yourselves as stewards rather than trend-driven dealers. At a time when the art market rewards speed and speculation, why choose patience and historical scholarship?

Douglas Gold: We both started buying and collecting when we were very young, and almost immediately became obsessed with learning as much as possible. What fascinated us wasn't only the artwork itself but the history behind it – how it reflected its moment, influenced culture, and fit into a broader narrative. Once we found those areas that genuinely inspired us, there was no turning back. Understanding the past has always been essential to how we approach the present.

Eli Sterngass: We never set out to be radical – we simply wanted to work with art we genuinely loved. Without studying history, it's impossible to understand what's happening today. My focus was American art from 1850 to 1945, while Doug gravitated toward postwar abstraction. Over time those interests merged into a program that spans nearly 150 years of American art. Because we started with very little capital, patience wasn't just philosophical – it was practical. We bought work we believed in and were willing to wait.

Both of your stories begin with flea markets, tag sales, and unexpected discoveries. Has your generation developed a different instinct for recognizing value?

Gold: I think so. We grew up in an age of instant access, which ironically makes discovery even more rewarding. Just as vintage fashion has become desirable because people recognize value in overlooked objects, we try to do the same with art – finding extraordinary works that have simply been forgotten.

Sterngass: We were largely self-taught through trial and error, but we also worked in established galleries after college, so we understood the standards we wanted to reach. Today there's unprecedented access to artworks through online platforms, but finding truly exceptional pieces still comes down to time and persistence. We've probably each spent thousands of hours sourcing works over the past decade.

A Tribute to André feels less nostalgic than it does like a statement about cultural memory. What did André Emmerich understand that today's market often overlooks?

Gold: He understood that great markets aren't built overnight. His gallery functioned like a community – artists, collectors, curators and fellow dealers all played a role. He collaborated generously because expanding an artist's audience mattered more than controlling the market. That long-term thinking is why his legacy still resonates today.

Sterngass: One of Emmerich's greatest insights was that a dealer's role is to help people see. He famously said that some artists, like Jules Olitski, reveal themselves only with time – that his job was simply to encourage viewers to look a little longer. I think that's an incredibly relevant lesson today.

You've become known for rediscovering overlooked postwar artists, particularly women whose markets lagged behind their male contemporaries. When you uncover a forgotten work or estate, do you think like historians, detectives, or dealers?

Gold: A little of all three. The first reaction is excitement – as collectors who've found something extraordinary. Then comes the research, followed by a long-term plan. With an estate, we're thinking years ahead: exhibitions, publications, museum placements and ways to strengthen an artist's legacy. Ultimately, being a dealer means balancing scholarship with stewardship.

Sterngass: As a child I wanted to be an archaeologist, and that instinct never really disappeared. I still love the thrill of discovery and the research that follows. That's exactly what happened with our rediscovery of Sherron Francis. But none of it matters unless we genuinely love living with the work ourselves.

Neither of you experienced the heyday of Color Field painting firsthand, yet you speak about artists like Frankenthaler or Dzubas with remarkable intimacy. Does your gallery operate against your generation's famously short attention span?

Gold: Maybe against expectations, but not against curiosity. Our generation loves discovering things that feel authentic. Recently we watched someone spend more than twenty minutes with a single painting. When a work offers something you can't get from scrolling a screen, people slow down.

Sterngass: One of the pleasures of working historically is inheriting the stories alongside the artworks – reading old catalogues, speaking with artists and historians, piecing together forgotten histories. Those narratives become part of what we pass on. I also think every generation eventually recognizes great art. Many of our peers are beginning to inherit collections from their families, and they genuinely want to understand them.

André Emmerich famously said, “Good art dealers don't sell art; they allow people to acquire it”. In an age of algorithms and constant visibility, how do you create the conditions for the work to speak for itself?

Gold: Presentation matters. We try to install exhibitions with restraint, allowing each work room to breathe while creating thoughtful conversations between pieces. Sometimes the best thing a dealer can do is simply step back.

Sterngass: We want the gallery to feel welcoming rather than exclusive. There are no barriers to entry, and we're committed to producing printed catalogues with original essays for nearly every exhibition. They preserve context, encourage slower looking, and ensure these works continue to be understood long after the exhibition ends.

The interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.