The Predator Artist

When imitation stops being flattery

A familiar player has entered the villa one most people don’t know by name, but if you’re in the industry, you’ve heard the stories. You’ve probably lived them. And if you haven’t yet, you will.

Let me introduce you to a figure no one warns you about: the predator artist.

We’re all familiar with the gallery villain archetype the possessive dealer who behaves like a toxic ex, demanding exclusivity, withholding pay, and forcing artists into public call-outs just to get what they’re owed. That kind of predator is well documented. It’s a product of an unregulated industry where anyone can declare themselves a gallery and operate unchecked. It’s both a blessing and a curse.

But there’s another kind.
Quieter. Trickier.

The artist who steals.

Not just your artwork, your life.

Your language. Your brand. Your strategies. Your relationships. Your narrative.

They orbit you closely, watching, mimicking, extracting. And you realize, often too late, that what you believed was mutual inspiration/camaraderie/whatever, was actually a slow, calculated appropriation. They use your likeness, your actual lived experience and voice, as raw material to build their own myth. Because they haven’t done the work. Because they lack the courage to risk being fully themselves.

They are cultural parasites operating in a space that supposedly rewards individuality.

And here’s the twist: often, they’re celebrated.
Because our industry still confuses performance with authenticity. Because the art world loves a good story and doesn’t always care who it belonged to first.

I’ll admit, this type of predator was new to me in work but not in life. Coming from the gallery side, I assumed artists would be the ones fighting against extraction, not enacting it. But I’ve learned otherwise.

So what do we do about it?

We name it.
We start asking deeper questions about what originality actually means in a culture obsessed with branding.

Because let’s be honest: it’s not just one person. It’s a pattern.

It’s the copy-Kates who flood mid-tier galleries with paint-by-numbers Basquiat knockoffs and watered-down Weatherfords. It’s the artists who build entire careers on aesthetic mimicry clinging to the styles of blue-chip legends because they know a certain kind of collector will always settle for a “lookalike” at half the price.
It’s the celebrity-turned-artist who trades on cultural cachet but can’t be bothered to develop a visual language of their own.

We are living in an era where taste is currency.
And when currency gets tight, people start counterfeiting.

But the real ones always last longer.

So if you’ve been copied, co-opted, or quietly cannibalized please keep building. Stay visible. Stay loud. And know that people like me are watching.

And we know the difference.

It’s a strange thing—to fight so hard to be accepted as your authentic self, only to see a clone you never condoned pop up beside you.
Often built from your own kind heart.

Originality isn’t always rewarded.
But it always endures.

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What Can You Do?

If you’re building something original, and doing it well, you will be copied. That’s not a threat. It’s a given.
But there are ways to protect your vision and your voice:

1. Document everything.
Keep dated records of your writing, proposals, brand frameworks, and strategies. Even informal notes can help establish your timeline if someone later claims what you originated.

2. Be mindful of who you share with.
Generosity is beautiful, but boundaries are necessary. Vet collaborators. Share ideas strategically not out of impulse, but with intention.

3. Make your brand unmistakable.
The clearer your voice and values, the harder it is to copy you without it being obvious. Watered-down versions are easy to spot when the original is sharp, specific, and consistent.

4. Talk about it.
Predators rely on silence. When you speak up—whether privately, publicly, or through your work—you create a record. You also remind others that they’re not alone.

5. Keep evolving.
The best defense against imitation is momentum. The people who steal from you can’t keep up if you don’t stop moving.

And finally don’t let it make you small.

The goal of a predator is to make you second-guess yourself. To dim your instincts. To make you hesitate.

Keep going. Keep building. The people who know how to spot real work are watching, too.

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In this moment, I’m watching my likeness, my life, and my work being used by someone desperate to be accepted in real time. They are quiet well known to boot.
And I see it clearly for what it is.

Lets see if they can keep up.

Enjoy the 4th holiday everyone and see you the following week!

XoXo

-Rachael

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