Down the Rabbit Hole of Auction Analytics

You know you've reached a special level of auction nerdery when you find yourself calculating the average minutes per lot across two years' worth of sales. Not just the obvious numbers like gross sales (got 'em) or net per lot (check), but the nitty-gritty time analytics that make normal people's eyes glaze over faster than a rushed pottery lot description.

I went down this rabbit hole recently, armed with nothing but Excel and an uncomfortable amount of coffee. The results? Let's just say I now know more about our 2023-2024 auction metrics than any human reasonably should. It's like having a secret superpower that absolutely no one at parties wants to hear about.

Well, funny story – when you first look at these numbers, you think, "That can't be right. How does it take that long?" Then you remember: Oh right, there's the photography session where you're meticulously setting up lighting (just invested in new lights this week!) to show items exactly as they are. Because that's our job - to show bidders precisely what they're getting, every scratch, marking, and detail in clear, well-lit photos.

The catalog writing where accuracy matters more than flowery descriptions. The preview days where you explain forty-seven times that yes, that painting is an original print of a copy of a reproduction (and no, sadly, the actual "The Old Guitarist" isn't mysteriously here at our auction house - it's still safely at the Art Institute of Chicago where millions of visitors see it each year). Though I have to admit, there's something endearing about the hopeful excitement when someone thinks they've discovered a long-lost masterpiece behind Great-Aunt Betty's couch. That painting still found a happy home with someone who loved it for exactly what it was - a lovely piece of art in its own right.

But here's the thing about numbers – they tell a story, but never the whole story. They can't capture the moment when a bidder's eyes light up at finding that perfect piece, or the satisfaction of watching an item find its new home. They don't reflect the hours spent arranging items just so, or the community that builds around regular auction events.

Speaking of community, there's a certain quietness in the air this week. A moment of reflection, perhaps. It reminds me of what's special about auctions - how we can all gather in one room, compete fiercely for what we want, and still shake hands afterward. Whether it's that stunning Victorian sideboard or that charming farmhouse everyone had their eye on, at the end of the day, the gavel falls, the decision is made, and life goes on. We respect the process, whether we got the outcome we wanted or not. There's something to be said for how to handle both winning and losing with grace. No one will agree on everything - that's not the point. It's about standing firm for what we believe while remembering we're all part of the same community. The art of compromise doesn't mean giving up your convictions; it means finding ways to move forward together.

So while I'll keep my spreadsheets (much to Alex's printer-related distress and apparent concern for local tree-dwelling primates), and I'll certainly keep tracking our numbers (because someone has to know these things, right?), I'm reminded that our business is ultimately about people. It's about the stories behind the items, the excitement of the bid, and yes, even those minutes per lot that add up to something much more meaningful than just data points in a spreadsheet.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go print off some marketing related material and other stuff. Also check on the auction team and throw them off course with a new blog post. Auctions won't run themselves - though this gives me an idea for a horror movie that would definitely make people think twice about saying 'That antique doll would look perfect in the guest room.'

Back to work, everyone. Those lots won't photograph themselves (yet).